In the end of dreaming and healing
by RainbowHeart
Summary: Weeks later, he thinks he isn’t fully free of the cursed mirror’s magic. NOW A TWO PART AU SEQUEL TO "In the Beginning--" plus OMAKE.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Okay. The original ending I thought up for "In the beginning--" was that people go insane, Arthur (who vowed to kill whoever had killed his then-British colony Matthew Kirkland) puts Alfred out of his misery. Francis had committed suicide some time after killing Kanata and the world stays the way it's been messed up.

I was going to flesh out the different scenes into actual chapters but I suck badly. But then, I wanted a happier ending = more plot bunnies. T_T Boo me, my brain, my obsession, and my inability to write out proper long chapters with proper story lines.

I really should stop listening to inspiring music (was listening to We've Been Waiting For So Long composed by Rene Dupere and the 2010 Olympics I believe/J'imagine on repeat). You don't have to listen to it when you're reading. **And, no. this is not a song fic. This is an AU sequel to "In the beginning"  
**

It's extremely more happier than its prequel. :D :D :D Hope you enjoy it. I'm going to go to sleep now. (Hasn't been beta-ed either)

* * *

**In the end.**

A week after Kanata dies, England goes home, locks his front door, covers all his windows, unplugs all phone cords, turns off his cell phone, and spreads his map of the world on his living room table. The map is covered with small red dots, indicating places where Matthews were.

The fairies are confused at England's actions. "there is no more. No more. No more. Cannot find what does not exist no more."

"No, we can't." England admits (after all, you can't resurrect the dead) and sets a glass shard on the map. "Is there anymore of this? Are there more somewhere?"

He watches as each fairy take turns poking and circling the glass shard. Minutes go by then, "no magic. No magic. no evil. What do you want us to look for?" They circle him, concerned and confused as he plops himself on the couch with a frustrated groan. He runs his hands through his hair.

"If the magic is gone then why is the curse still in effect? Why is America still paranoid and why does Germany still think he's a Nazi?" England's pleading with the fairies now "What went wrong besides the—" He waves his hand in a general direction, not wanting to voice death of Kanata, but the fairies understand anyways.

"Why is the curse still here?" He finally asks. They don't know the answer.

"Why?" England whispers to himself.

------

_Mon dieu, this is so lame. It's sealed. There's no point in-_

_It's been days and nothing's changed!_

_..._

_Come on! We've tried everything else. Let's just give this a try. _

_…Fine, Al...What do you plan on doing?_

-----

The world is in utter chaos. Two months after Kanata died, the numbers of killings, murders, suicides, and bombings tripled all over the world. By the end of third month, France and Germany as allies invaded Russia and its neighboring countries, the soldiers burning and pillaging homes and landscapes.

America nukes China, causing mega-earthquakes and tsunamis that submerge Japan and borderland countries. Someone landed a nuclear bomb in the Pacific Ocean and the United Kingdom is now half underwater. Russia nukes America and by the end of twelfth month, nuclear weaponry and stations were all destroyed or used up, thus, forcing people return to using guns and swords as dust clouds hover above their heads.

At twenty months after Kanata died, peace talks, claiming of lands, and treaties were negotiated. On the twenty-third month, as the remaining 3.2 billion world population tries to return to some semblance of order, the remaining personifications of the world hunts down Arthur Kirkland.

His offence?

Enchanting a mirror.

_---_

_Turning the alarm off, he blinks rapidly before closing his eyes and forcing his body upright on the bed. Willing himself awake, he stumbles towards the closed door, leaving the bed undone, and bumps against the dresser as he retrieves his glasses on the way out. _

_He ends up leaning against the door frame, head bowed as he is momentarily blinded by the bright hallway lights. As his vision clears and his body wakes up from slumber, he sees the floating white lilies decorating the corridor walls and hears the muffled murmurs of France in the next room. Right, he thinks to himself, he has to switch shifts with France. _

_He reaches the closed mahogany door in a few steps and twists the doorknob as the mutterings end. "It's your turn." He slurs out. The bedroom is dimly lit by a lone lamp beside the bed and the fading moonlight through the window. The curtains shifts as a breeze flutters in from the open window whenhe closes the door. _

_"Ah, merci," France turns from his seat beside the bed to examine his guest. If the circumstances were different France would have commented on how adorable his guest looks with dishevelled hair and crinkled cloths. Instead, France settles with concern, "you seem tired still. I could stay a—"_

_"No," The nation interrupts in a firm tone and moves towards France and the lone bed in the centre of the room, "you need to rest too." He, then, promptly pulls France across the room by the elbow and pushes him out into the hallway. He waits in the doorway as France chuckles, gives him a kiss on the forehead, a "oui, mon petit", and "I'll bring you crepes for breakfast in a few hours" before retreating down the corridor. _

_"Well, hello." The male nation begins, after closing the door and taking France's position beside the bed. The bed's occupant is deep in sleep and does not stir when he slips his own hand under the unmoving one on the comforter. The hand still has France's lingering warmth from when he was holding it. _

_"How are you doing?"_

_But the sleeper does not respond and the visitor tries to swallows down the tightness in his throat. "Ah, how was Francis' singing?_"_ he continues referring to France's murmuring he heard before. "__Was he singing his national anthem again?_"_He says nothing for a few minutes as if allowing time for the bed's occupant to reply._

_"It's Alfred's idea, you know. He says it's like in the movies where people in comas can hear you speak to them." He says nothing again, settles for staring at the rise and fall of the chest in front of him. _

_He gives the hand he's holding a light squeeze. "He's downstairs sleeping on your couch, by the way." He gives the slumbering face a glance then continues to stare at the hand he's holding, willing it to move, twitch, or—just do something. _

----

As England jerks awake, his first thoughts are that his right hand is clammy and warm but the rest of his body is cold. He dismisses the trivial idea as because he was gripping his pistol very tightly when he went to sleep last night. He ignores the fact that the air is bitterly cold and focuses on listening on his surroundings.

He feels the ache in his calf muscles, a dull pain from where a pebble dug into in his back, and the wetness of the cloth covering a knife wound on his left arm. He smells the minty tang of the leaf under his nose and hears the running water to his left. The birds—no, they're not chirping.

And he realizes there is talking–no, chanting—in the distance and he feels the slight vibration of the ground on his back. England quickly scampers to his feet and removes the tree branches off of him, throwing them around to appear as if they were part of the natural surroundings.

Still clutching his pistol, he jogs towards the running water he had heard, taking care not to break off branches or flatten the under bush too much, else his pursuers just simply follow the demolition path he makes.

Minutes after England had jumped down the steep sides of a deep, wide canyon-like valley and into knee-deep water, the chanting is louder. He's half hidden by the protruding thick roots of a tree that grew on the edge of the valley, crouching in a tiny alcove with water up to his ankles, when he can make out the words.

"…And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave. O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave…" England almost bursts out in laughter in disbelief.

His pursuers were American.

And they were singing their national anthem.

What idiocy! They're not going to find anyone in that ruckus.

So England stands (he stopped crouching an hour into the singing) in the running water, his hands now both sweaty and warm from exertion, listening to soldiers (dear lord, it seems as if a whole army was searching for him!) sing the USA's national anthem. After 3 hours, he thinks he's learned every version of the blasted song and he thanks the lord when he can't make out the chanting in the distance anymore.

He waits another hour, just in case, before pocketing the pistol and begins to climb up the thick branches. He's about to hoist his upper body onto the leveled ground when he hears, "Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé !..."

He almost screams out bloody murder before stifling it into a low groan and proceeds to climb back down the roots to wait. He is getting very tired of these national anthem singing-soldiers who have been hunting him down for weeks now.

He's also very hungry.

---

_"Why won't you wake up?" was the next whisper. Another moment of curtains brushing against each other and slow breathing.  
_

_He's too tired to sing or tell a story and he's afraid of waking the others up, so he tries humming his own national anthem. He gives up half way into the song because it required too much effort to reach the different pitches. Plus, he thinks, he's exhausted from worry and from the restless sleep he just had. _

_He looks out the window across from him and sees the sky has turned a lighter blue. _

_The tired nation slumps forward onto the edge of the bed and lays his head on the crook of his right arm. Still grasping the other nation's hand with his left, he mutters softly, "Is what you're dreaming that nice, Arthur?"_

_He misses the pink and red spilling across the sky, the birds chirping, the cooler breeze, and the rays of sunlight slowly gliding into the room. _

_The Canadian is asleep when he also misses the tightening hold on his hand. _

---

After five—FIVE!!—hours of the French anthem, England feels like he's imagined throttling necks to last him one per day for a hundred years.

An hour of silence after the last "…Aux armes, citoyens, Formez vos bataillons,…" he also thinks his pistol's handle has a quite accurate imprint of his right hand, calluses and all. His hands are moist, warm, and weary from clutching the pistol in irritation for hours, so England decides to dunk them in the cool flowing water.

As he listens to the birds chirping instead of horrible opera, he wonders why his left hand feels cold and how his right palm is still warm.

A couple of minutes wondering, with the sunlight slithering through the leaves and a strong wind smacking him in the face, England is standing in the middle of a river when he has the sudden image that someone's holding his hand.

---

_As Francis snores in the next room, as Alfred curls on the couch, as Matthew falls asleep out of exhaustion--Arthur wakes up from his dream._

**END CHAPTER.  
**

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**March 8, 2010 update: **READ THE NEXT CHAPTER!! :D :D :D :D :D Everything should make some more sense after you do.

**Author's (more) notes:** I don't think I conveyed the fact that despite days after the mirror was sealed, England's dream was too strong that he can't get out of it. I also don't think I conveyed the fact that it wasn't a paradise fantasy that keep him from waking up, it was the fact that it was a nightmare that he couldn't wake up. So, it took a sort-of happy thing and for him to wake up. Plus the mirror was seal = magic gone!

Yes, the mirror was sealed. By who? Suppose to be Norway and England's faeries but I couldn't fit it in anywhere besides the "It's sealed" part. :D :D :D

I also wanted to include UK's national anthem where France, America, and Canada all sing it in the end. But...it just ended the way it did. And yes, when you're tired, the Canadian anthem has too many pitch changes, in my opinion, to hum.

I'm curious. Which ending did you like better, this or "in the beginning"? And was this ending too obvious?


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Greetings**:_ Hello again. Well, my dissatisfaction with the last part and the review of Dadaiiro (Thank you for the feedback and thank you for in the process inspire me some more) made me thinking. So...here's some better more on from the plot bunny. I really think this will be the last one to the story line (besides the a short omake to tie some things up later).

Hope you enjoy this. (I know I had more fun writing this than the first chapter.) :D :D :D

P.S. _Italicized text is dream._ Regular text is reality.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

After England is awake from his magically induced dream, they (America, France, and Canada) explain to him how he was a victim of the mirror's curse. America, who came to visit England that day, found him collapsed on the floor in his office and would not wake up. America assured England's secretary that he was just very sleepy and carried him home and called France (who apparently was on England's speed dial) who admitted England into a hospital. When America missed an important hockey get-together with Canada, Canada tracked him down to England's house the very next day.

Eventually, England's fairies figured out he was under a curse and contacted Norway. Two weeks of investigation later, as England is feed with tubes, they find the mirror in his office drawer. Norway and the fairies seal its magic and performed some kind of cleansing ritual on England.

'Even then,' they tell him, 'he didn't wake up until 3 days later.'

Though England can't remember what he dreamed, he almost doesn't believe their story because he feels like he's just experienced 5 year of chaos, sorrow, and death rather than sleep for 3 weeks. But then, he's refusing America's offer to have a hamburger and yelling at France to stop snooping through his drawer of boxers like a pervert. He's also still holding Canada's hand in his right and America's hand in his left when he finds himself hoping their story is true. (He kicks France when the idiot tries to hug him because "he wants to touch England too~!")

A week of normalcy passes and England is about to forget the fact that he 3 lost weeks when he gets his first dream. He dreams of an empty house, of a dusty living room, and of an unkempt backyard. He dreams of _usually trimmed bushes now wild, of wilting roses and lilies, of a slightly ajar shed door. _

"_France? Francis!" He calls out, but no one answers. _

_His eyes stings from the putrid smell that hits him in the face as he opens the shed door. Glancing inside, he immediately jerks away as if burned. _

_Masses of cockroaches, swarming over something on the floor like a dark blanket, scampers off into the corners. They reveal white maggots burrowing and wiggling in holes where eyeballs should have been. A yellow-eyed rat stares at England before scurrying down the gaping mouth. A raccoon is chewing on a half eaten arm, pulling the limb in its mouth as it tries to sever it from the body. Another nest of rats and maggots are making a home in the stomach with what looks like strands of blonde hair. _

_England trips in his haste to leave because France is dead and decaying and racoons and rats and maggots and cockroaches were eating—_and England wakes up, trips on the tangled comforters, and is retching on his bedroom floor.

Two days later, England is exhausted. He hasn't had a restful slumber for days because he always wakes up multiple times in the night. The one time England tried taking sleeping medicine only made it worst. He now dreams every time he sleeps or naps.

He, then, learns that some dreams aren't as disgusting as the first but they always end badly. The dreams sometime skips timeframes (one is in 2013 and the next in 2010) while other times, they occur chronologically. He also finds out that most of the time they like to repeat. After his fifth dream in the same day about a decaying body, he flies to France, punches a greeting Francis in the face at the door, storms his way past the concerned servants with a jug of gasoline, and burns the damn shed to the ground. (When he leaves, he threatens Francis, "Don't you dare commit suicide." The nation of love gives him a hug and England almost punches him again.)

The next week of constant dreaming makes England so disoriented he can't tell the difference between dream and reality. Sometimes, it takes his fairies an hour of describing the events of the past month before he realizes which world he really is in. England admits to himself, sitting on his couch as the fairies flutter around him, that he really needs to get some help. He's holding the phone and contemplates who to ask about the mirror's magic when the fairies decide to cast a sleeping spell on him. They had hoped their magic would give England some soothing snooze time.

It doesn't work and he dreams of _a warm summer morning as he prepares breakfast and a 12 year old Matthew sets the table. England's back is turned to the boy as he fries eggs and bacon strips when the latter declares, "You need to kill me." The representative of history's Upper and Lower Canada does not get the chance to elaborate because England spins around in surprise and almost hits him with the spatula. _

"_Don't sneak up on me, Alfred!"_

"_I'm Matthew."_

"_Ah," England squint his eyes at the boy in front of him, trying to recognize him, "I'm sorry, Matthew. And we've discussed this already. You merely time travelled into the future. We'll get you back after I gather the right ingredients for the ritual."_

"_No, I didn't time travel. You have to kill me because the mirror's curse is using me to—" but Matthew doesn't get to finish because the eggs are burning and smoke is filling up the kitchen. By the time they get the smoke alarm to stop beeping, America and France are knocking on the door and declares they will celebrate July 4__th __(or in France's case:__spend time _physically bonding_ to one another). Next, France drags England out the door to go buy a cake and more food to make dinner for four while the brothers decorate the house. _

Then, England jerks awake clutching the phone with a sense of forbidding and dread. He stares at the apologizing fairies for a few minutes, rubbing his eyes and listening to the clock's tick-tock before dialling the airport to book a flight to Canada.

---

He's at the airport sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair, on standby for a flight to Toronto when he dreams of his haphazard living room, of the overturned coffee table, of the crooked picture frames, _of a knife's red blade at his feet._

_The decorative vase is in pieces on the floor, 'Happy Birthday' streamers are spewed all over the room, and the couch has cotton spilling out of pierced holes. The unpeeled potatoes meant for dinner are littered all over the floor. The fallen curtains stain red as they soak up the puddle of blood. _

_Then, England's pants are also absorbing the bright red liquid as he kneels beside a dying boy. Warm blood oozes out like waterfalls from the punctured holes in a shaky chest. England feels each wet cough and wheeze beneath his hands as he tries to stop the bleeding with the curtains. _

"…dying, dying, dying…" his fairies whisper in his ears.

_And England's shouting for France to call the ambulance and "where's Alfred?!" because he fears the other nation is lying somewhere in his house bleeding as well. He tells Matthew to stop moving and "stop trying to talk" and "focus on breathing" but the boy does not obey and-_

"dying, dying, dying, dying…" they repeat

_England bends down and turns his head to listen as his hands become sticky with drying blood. He pretends to understand (because he cannot comprehend) the broken mutterings between the coughs and rasps of the child. He wipes the blood gurgling out of Matthew's mouth with a hand and commands softly, "Shh. Hush, lad."_

The fairies inform him, "It's coming, it's coming, it's coming, death's coming, he's coming."

_England's face is impassive, smeared with red fingerprints, as he lies and assures the boy he understands the message. __"Sshh, it's okay."_

_Then, the boy speaks no more and stops his laboured breathing. _

_As __the body disperses like tiny red powder on the floor, England vows to find out who killed the boy and mime and torture and kill and_ someone's shaking him awake because they have a spot for him on a plane. He feels murderous and sleepy when he boards the aircraft.

An hour into the plane ride, England falls asleep looking out the oval window with his head leaning against the wall. He dreams of a radio, of a plate of apples, of marble counter, of America sitting on a chair in a kitchen. He dreams _of leaning against the counter, of America's pleading stare, of America's desperate "So, you're staying right?", and of the swoosh of the knife in America's hand. _

_England nods in the affirmative to the question and stares at America's hand moving back and forth as he peels an apple. He watches as America punctures the fruit's yellow flesh, as juice spills down the hand before dripping onto the red apple skin on the table. _

_He observes as America chops the apple into smaller slices. _

_And, England levels a gun at America's head._

_He removes the safety as he imagines the same hand holding the knife stab human flesh like it pierced the apple. He pictures blood spilling down like apple juice on America's hands as the knife moves up and down into flesh like slicing apples. He sees in his mind America murder the 12 year old Matthew because America just admitted to the deed two days ago. _

_Then England keeps his vow to avenge the boy and pulls the trigger as he absently hears the radio reports _"…a 30 year old man shots his wife and children before killing himself today in their kitchen."

The Englishman awakens with the feeling of caked blood on his hands and copper on his tongue. Waving a hand in the air to get the attention of a flight attendant, he asks if they can change the plane TV channel to something else or "play a sappy Disney movie, please".

When England's off the plane in Pearson airport, he calls America to make sure the superpower is still alive and that England himself isn't running away from a recent crime scene. Once he's assured that killing America was a dream, he heads out to find a taxi.

----

It is cold outside. One's vision is obscured by the usually soft snowfall falling in torrents from the sky. Carried by the strong wind, the tiny ice crystals is merciless against any exposed skin it lands on.

_Ding dong._

On the steps of a house, England wraps his overcoat tighter around himself as the icy wind blows over him. He waits five seconds after the last bell sound before pressing the doorbell again. In another five seconds, he's frowning and his eyebrows are creased as he presses the doorbell again. England's bare hands are shaking when he presses the doorbell a fourth time. He's about to bang on the door with his shivering fists when the door opens, revealing a squinty-eyed Canadian.

"Eng-Arthur? Come in." The Canadian doesn't have his glasses on, but he can tell that his mentor is shivering in the cold. The Englishman instantly grins, says "Thank you" and complies with the order.

They are in kitchen, both sipping on tea at 3:24 in the morning, when Canada reminds a relaxed England "I'm Canada, eh." and asks "did something happen?" After all, the northern nation rarely receives guests this early nor when there's a blizzard raging in his country (the other nations avoid him during the winter actually).

England gives Canada another small smile and replies, "I know. I came to visit you. Is this a bad time? England doesn't say that he panicked and imagined Canada sprawled on the floor in a puddle of blood.

Seeing the relieved look on England's face, Canada responds in the negative and does not comment on how England's hands holding the tea cup are shaking. He also does not question when England silently follows him upstairs to retrieve his glasses or when England waits for him outside the washroom door.

He agrees with England when the island nation declares the guest room too cold, but is too tired to protest when England buries himself near Kumachichi (?) on Canada's bed. Under the covers beside England and the pet, he's half-asleep when he barely registers England holding one of his hands. He's too comfortable, though, to make the effort of expressing concern.

Peace and a sense of ease descend on England amongst the soft snoring of his bed companions, the rhythmic tick-tocking clock, and the light rattling of the windows. The heavy blankets embraces and presses in around England with their weight. The soft pillow cushions his head and the warmth of the bodies around him seeps into his form.

So, England feels secure and warm (and forgets about dreams) as he enters a restful and dreamless sleep for the first time in weeks.

**END CHAPTER.  
**

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**Author: **Puny omake to follow...

So...what do you think? Review?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author notes and greetings:** I didn't know how to end it besides like so. So...don't kill me? (My brain is out of inspirational juice) If something doesn't make sense, I leave up to your imagination. :D :D :D But I hope you review or comment or just tell me how to improve my writing for if I write something another time.

Thanks for taking your time to read this story. :D :D :D

* * *

**Omake**

The next day, England wakes up to a polar bear holding his hand and muffled mutterings coming from the door. He, then, finds himself eating dinner (consisting of KFC's chicken, salad, steak and rice, and chocolate mousse for dessert) with France, America, and Canada. Next, he finds himself plopped down on Canada's living room couch surrounded by the other three intently staring at him before America breaks the silence.

"So, you okay?"

They don't believe him when he says it's nothing he can't handle and they glare at him when he tries to change the topic. When he makes to leave France asserts, "I want to know why you set my garden shed on fire, rosbif." France's glare wordlessly demands why he got punched in the face.

America adds in, "And why you called me to ask if my country's security is working. I even called the Pentagon to make sure for you and you didn't even explain."

Canada only tilts his head to the side at the statements and raises an eyebrow. England believes Canada's questioning stare conveys, "You burned a shed? The Pentagon?" and "I'm glad you only woke me up at 3:23 am."

So England thinks telling them would be a start to getting help and tells them everything. He tells them of the world the mirror created, of a dying Matthew Kirkland, of killing America, of finding France's body in a shed.

He tells them of dream-America taking a mirror, of how the mirror shards attached itself to the memories of a dream-Canada. He tells them about Miy Paluk and killing Canadas, how Kanata did not have a shard in him, and how dream-Francis killed the innocent toddler. He tells them that dream-nations fought a World War III and that the dream-nations believed the war and the mirror was England's evil plan to regain his old glory days. Next, he explains running away and hearing soldiers sing national anthems and the feeling of his hand being constantly warm. Finally, he narrates when he wakes up and that the dreams he's having now are retelling the same events he just told them about.

Silence follows the end of England's story.

"Mon dieu." France says and England realizes how absurd his story sounds.

"But you didn't dream last night, eh?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well, then, it's settled! We'll just make sure someone's sleeping with you every time!" was America's suggestion.

"Une bonne idée, Amérique! We can spend the night cuddling and then—"

England smacks a couch cushion in France's face and retorts "Don't be draft. I don't need or want to be cuddled like a child."

"What about a dreamcatcher? The Ojibwa uses it for their children but I think you can still use it to trap the nightmares, eh?"

"Hey, that's right! And the nightmares will eventually stop! We'll go make a real one for you!" America declares and is pulling the Canadian out the door before England can comment. He hears America's, "Mattie, you have feathers and beads, right?" and Canada's, "I thinks so. Let's get some willow and actual sinew first."

Next thing England knows is France is handing him a cup of tea and saying, "I remember, Angleterre, you said you didn't remember what you dreamed when you woke up. I think, you're body is just remembering the dream now."

England contemplates the idea as he sips the warm liquid. France drinks from his own cup before continuing, "We called Norway earlier and he says the mirror is sealed and his friends don't sense any dark forces or other on you. Did your supernatural friends say anything?"

"No. They only tried to cast a calming spell on me." England admits.

"Then, tout se passera bien!"

---

Days later, England sleeps with a dreamcatcher above his bed and his nightmares of killing and dead bodies ends. He does dream of a happy and dancing Kanata once in a while, but since he wakes up feeling his chest is bursting with love and affection instead of feeling tired and murderous, he figures it's more of a pleasant fantasy than a nightmare.

He also doesn't mind the North American brothers occasionally calling him or the sudden get-togethers or, sometimes, he doesn't mind France's visits either. Months after, when the dreamcatcher dries out and collapses, the nightmares don't reoccur and his memories of them slowly escapes from his mind like real dreams should.

England is glad that France's deduction is correct because, in the end, everything is alright again.

**END**

* * *

**Author:** yea, the ending is a bit anti-climatic? ...All well...

**Translations**: Mon dieu: My god.

Une bonne idee: A good/wonderful idea.

Tout se passera bien: Everything will be fine. (hopefully, this is right...)


End file.
